High Times
by Anonymous.Fragger
Summary: Drift is an anxious mech. He needs some medication to keep him from going nuts. Sadly, when given this drug, he goes a little loopy for a few hours, therefore he must be left under the supervision of Ratchet. This time, though, Drift has other ideas. Gift/Request


Ratchet heaved a massive sigh. It always came down to this, didn't it? Drift was a good mech, deep down. Really... _Really_ deep down. In fact so far down that Ratchet often had trouble believing if it was there or not. Even so, it always came down to the fact that the mech was in an almost constant state of angst. And that was just not something that could be tolerated on a mission such as this.

Being a medic, Ratchet knew a rather simple solution that would settle his frayed nerves and his paranoia. It was a simple chemical that was taken orally twice a month. However, because of this, twice a month Ratchet was stuck putting his med bay on lock down for three hours just to keep Drift's little 'secret'.

"I don't know why you make me do this, why can't you do this in your own quarters." He muttered as he mixed up the solution. Drift bit the inside of his cheek as he removed his weapons and set them into a case across the med bay. He slowly sucked in a deep breath as he clicked the case closed, his optics closing to try and calm his thrumming Spark.

"Last time I tried that, I ended up with half my armor lost throughout my room, and the walls painted with some sort of bright yellow substance I was too afraid to have analyzed. Also all of my furniture has never quite been the same since then." His voice was blunt and unamused, his hands only slightly trembling as his systems craved for the relaxing drug. He turned to face the mech, who's expression was the usual glower it usually was when it came to this. "Thank you for doing this," He said, trying to get on his good side, but the medic only uttered a grunt and went back to his mixing.

"It's only because I know about that incident that I'm not _making_ you suffer this alone," He finally stated, not reacting to the mech thanking him. He corked the vial he was working on, grasping it in the tips of his fingers as he lightly twisted his wrist to get the liquid swirling within. It turned a dark, inky black and as it began to cling to the sides, he nodded. "There. It's ready. Let's get this slag over with." He said, pushing the vial into the white mech's hands and going about locking down the med lab, finishing it off by removing the case with Drift's weapons in it and putting it into a locked cabinet.

By the time all this was finished, Drift was already feeling the effects. Ratchet watched as the mech's optics slowly began to go dim, and his tense shoulders slumped. He did nothing as he stumbled, then fell unceremoniously into a heap on the floor. Optics and mouth forming a rather flat expression, the medic crossed his arms, his head tilting down to follow the thin ex-Decepticon's decent to the floor.

"Ow," Drift muttered against the flooring, splaying his hand against the metal beside his head and drawing himself up slightly to hover there, his optics staring blankly as if trying terribly hard to recognize what he was looking at. There was a silence. "Ratchet?"

Oh, here we go.

"Drift." He answered. He'd played this game a time or two.

"Ratchet, you know I'm not a Decepticon, right?" Despite having been asked this almost _every time,_ it still made Ratchet's Spark clench a little and a sliver of guilt tangle in his Spark. "..._**Right?**_"

Ratchet sank his denta into the inside of his cheek and moved over to the mech on the floor, crouching down. He saw Drift's optics, they were creased in emotional turmoil. "I know." He finally said. "I know you're not a 'Con, Drift." He clarified, knowing that he must in order to make sure Drift's lagged processor understood him.

"You do?" Drift tilted his head, his optics sliding to the right to stare at him. He stared up at him, right into his Spark it felt like, then a weak smile creased his taunt features and he relaxed.

"Alright, up you get," Ratchet said gruffly, pulling the mech up to stand and helping him to sit on a berth. He swayed slightly, but, placing his hands on the table, he righted himself. He watched Ratchet intently for a few moments as the mech went to sit at his desk and start working on some doodad. Drift's optics narrowed and he stood, splaying his arms out on either side to keep his balance, before moving forward.

He almost instantly fell on his face again, and Ratchet _could_ have caught him, he really could have, he just... Didn't. He watched out of the corner of his optic as Drift, determined, began pushing himself across the floor with his pedes and hands to get closer. "What do you _want_, Drift," He sighed lowly, and the sound of metal scraping on metal came to a halt.

Drift muttered against the metallic deck below, but Ratchet couldn't make it out. He merely uttered a soft "Mhm" and went back to his work. Only to stop again, lifting his head up to glare accusingly at an innocent set of tools directly in front of him as the noise started up again.

The swords mech made his way over, sitting himself up and leaning onto Ratchet's chair, resting his chin on his thigh. His lower half was sprawled on the floor, but even so, the smaller mech looked elegant somehow. "Ahn-" Drift reached a hand up and grasped Ratchet's wrist, hold tight as he dragged it downwards.

"What are you doing?" Ratchet demanded, only to let out a strangled noise of surprise when Drift took advantage of the mech's hand being near his face, and wrapped his lips around two of his fingers. Being a medic, his hands were incredibly sensitive; even more so now that they were the set that Pharma had been using. He went to yank his hand away with an offended chuff, but the way Drift _stared_ up at him, _into_ him, made him stop short.

Drift knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and his optics dimmed as he enjoyed every second of it, toying with the two digits in his mouth, slithering his glossa between them. He moaned in a heated fashion around them, causing Ratchet's back to arch to hard it creaked. His cooling vents clicked on rather suddenly, his processor going utterly blank.

His wits seemed to return in a lusty crash, as the first thing he did was pushed his fingers against the mech's tongue. Drift's optics dimmed even further and he moaned, opening his mouth to take the crimson fingers deeper into his slick mouth. "Mnnnh-" He nibbled along the medic's knuckles as he pushing back against the pads with his tongue, earning a low growl from the larger mech.

It occurred somewhere in his processor that allowing and reply to Drift's attentions was taking advantage. But was it really? He'd never acted like _this_ before... Drawing his fingers away, his Spar jumped at the piteous whine it drew from him, ignoring the pawing hands that tried to pull him back. A trail of saliva connected his lips to the red digits for a moment before Ratchet shook his head and yanked away. "Don't," He grunted, trying to push the mech away.

Drift wasn't so easily detoured, he pushed closer again. Ratchet made a flat face, and angled his leg to shove his pede into the middle of Drift's form and push him away, having to stretch out the lower servo to its limits to get him far enough away. Luckily, Drift's arms were shorter than Ratchet's legs, so as the drugged mech reached for him again, the highest he could reach was his upper thigh. "_Ratchet,_" The swords mech finally whimpered, "_Please._" His tone caught him off guard, and he tilted his pale blue optics to stare at him. "I know what I'm doing, _please._ I need to _thank_ you."

"You already did, Drift, go lay down and sleep off your drug." Ratchet snapped gruffly, tilting his pede slightly so that the tip of it extended just a few more inches to push him just that much farther away.

"_No. Not this time. I __**owe**_ _you._" Drift's voice was serious, and it was obvious that he wasn't going to just give up. "_I am of s—sound mind,_" He added, though his optics were still slightly glazed. Still, he strained with all his might to reach toward the medic, who was still holding him at pede-tip.

"Drift, you're still suffering the effects of the drug. You're hardly sound of mind and I'm not going to take advantage of your sexual frustration coming out like this."

"I don't want to overload, I want _you_ to overload. What does it matter? The inhibitions are only stopping my normal social reservations, things I would do anyway if I wasn't so-"

"Fragging prude and proud?" Ratchet muttered out of the corner of his mouth, assuming the mech couldn't hear him.

"_Exactly._" He certainly wasn't expecting Drift to _answer_. He paused and looked at him, seeing the glazed optics, knowing that he was still under the effects of the drugs. But at the same time, those optics held an honesty that Drift always seemed to hold, except for when he was high off his aft. Ratchet stared at him for a long moment, still keeping him pushed away despite the mech shoving with all his might to get closer.

"You can't hold this against me when you're sober again," He finally said, though in a weary tone. Drift sat back on his knees, his arms falling to his sides.

"I won't... I know why you're having res—res... _Reservations_, Ratch', but, I just..." He looked down, as if ashamed, his frame slumping. He looked like a kicked turbo puppy. The medic stared for a long moment, before reaching forward and running his fingertips along the audial decals that rose up from his helmet. They instantly flushed a vicious shade of light pink, earning a low chuckle from Ratchet's chest.

"D—Don't make fun of-"

"You know, it's odd," Ratchet spoke over him easily, "When they re-wired you, a short was created that caused your audios to overheat when you're emotionally stimulated..." Drift ducked his head a little, the blush glowing slightly brighter. The head-fins literally heated up to the point of glowing almost instantly, and it resulted in the pale metal to turn pink. "If I hadn't done a look-over of you myself, I'd say that might be dangerous."

Drift curled his hands against his knees, his optics halving. He tilted his head slightly to more thoroughly enjoy the medic's gentle sliding of his fingers over the heated metal. He whined lowly when it suddenly stopped, and he realized that Ratchet's leg wasn't impeding him anymore. Glazed processor taking this as 'permission', he pushed forward to settle himself between the mech's legs, snatching his hand again and applying suction as he pulled the heated digits into his mouth.

"Drift-" Ratchet tried to pull back, but he decided against it. When his vents let out a long sigh and his shoulders slumped in defeat, Drift let out a long moan and suckled a little harder on the crimson fingers in his mouth, slithering his tongue along them in a pleasing manner. The way his lips moved, it was purely obvious that Drift was very skilled at this, and the thought made Ratchet's engine rev and his panel become entirely too warm and tight.

He was too busy staring at Drift's mouth and the way his lips pursed, his tongue peaked out between his fingers, to notice that the mech was making use of his hands. He jolted when he felt his skilled fingertips graze along the inside of his thighs, sinking into the joint and toying with the wires there. "Nnn-" Ratchet's vents kicked on in a heaving gasp, hot air bursting forth from his seams.

Drift smirked against his fingers and pushed a little closer, dragging his thumb sharply along the mech's cod piece, which was incredibly warm to the touch. "Mnh-" He hummed lowly and broke off from his fingers, pressing ever nearer and dragging his teeth along the inside of Ratchet's thigh. He mewled as he felt Ratchet's hand cup the back of his helm to keep him near, only surprise him by dragging him back. "Mnh-!?"

"This isn't a good idea," Ratchet panted, clearly having found his processor again. Drift growled under his breath and leaned up to shove a hard kiss onto Ratchet's mouth, overpowering him as he tried to shove back and get Drift off of him. There was a few moments of grappling, Drift attempting to push his tongue into Ratchet's mouth, while the medic was trying to shove Drift off him. However, they clattered to the floor as the rolling chair below gave out and zipped away to escape the fighting robots.

"Drift!" The medic snarled, arching his back slightly as he felt a dent formed in his hip. The swords mech sat himself up on Ratchet's waist, straddling him, while running his fingers up his flanks. "Drift, don't make me restrain you!" He ordered in a bellowing snarl. Drift paused and looked right into his optics, his own clearer than before.

"_Is that a promise, doc?_" He purred, leaning closer. Ratchet's optics widened, the grasp on the mech's wrists becoming slightly loose. Once he did this, Drift went back to running his fingers along the medic's plating, his optics halving, sliding back on his frame to get to his pelvic plating again. The shock of his words seemed to stun Ratchet long enough for him to get what he wanted.

With deft fingers set on a singular goal, he was able to force Ratchet's pelvic plating open. He purred lowly as the aroused cord began slowly pushing out of the mech's plating, already slick with fluids. "You can't lie now," He panted heatedly as he leaned closer, cupping his palm around the exposed and pressurized cable. He ran his fingers over the richly textured piece of hardware, his own vents kicking on wildly. Ratchet sat up on his arms and watched, unable to deny the fact that he was indeed aroused.

"Slag," He cursed when Drift began pumping his hand over the hardened cord, drawing his thumb along the weeping tip with a heated growl. By the way Drift's optics locked onto his work, the way his engine rumbled and his form heated, it was obvious that he _wanted_ this. _Badly_. "F-_Fine,_" Ratchet finally agreed, throwing his head back when Drift practically dove for his spike and began licking at it with a wanton need Ratchet didn't even know any one mech could possess.

The pleasure rocketed up and down his frame, and Drift seemed to be enjoying it just as much as Ratchet was. Drift moaned heatedly against the underside of the mech's cable, licking there before pressing his lips against it to suckle it. Ratchet rolled his helm to watch, his engine letting out a blasting rev as he did.

The sight was not something Ratchet had ever expected to see, but he was sure as Primus glad he was. Drift's flushed face was encompassed in rapture as he licked and suckled along the base and middle of the length provided for him, his hands coming up to cup it lovingly. His optics were dim with pleasure and the vibrations of his haughty moans were making Ratchet go a little mad. Drift savored every inch of the exposed cable, before finally working his way to the tip. He circled around the slick head, gathering up the fluid there and moaning loudly, his optics creasing to near-closing.

"_Primus,"_ Ratchet gasped, his fingers curling against the flooring, his optics locked on the show before him. More fluid dribbled forth, and Drift refused to waste a drop, pushing forward and wrapping his lips around the head of the large arousal and suckling. Ratchet cursed loudly, clenching his jaw and letting out a long hiss through clenched teeth. He nearly lost all semblance of control when Drift _moaned_, such an aroused and heated sound that trembled through his hardened cable.

"_Mnnnnhnnmnnnh..._" Drift drew out a long, lusty moan as he took more and more of Ratchet's cord into his mouth, adding suction as he did so, his tongue lashing sharply in circles around the swollen, leaking head. His optics darted up to watch Ratchet's face as it contorted in pleasure, and for a moment they locked optics and he felt another hot spurt of pre-fluids burst into his mouth. He moaned again at it, drinking it down as though starving for it, taking a little more of Ratchet's length into his lips.

Ratchet's form couldn't take much more of this. When they made eye contact, his Spark burst with pleasure and he flooded Drift's mouth with fluid, and he hadn't even overloaded yet. He didn't dare look away for fear of missing a single microsecond of the show before him. Drift's lips stretched attractively as he took more and more of Ratchet's thick arousal in his mouth, swallowing him down with shocking ease.

Optics going wide, the medic let out a strangled grasp as Drift's lips came in contact with the base of his cord, feeling the tight structure of Drift's throat flex hungrily around his girth. Cursing repeatedly, one of his hands fluttered up to his mouth to muffle himself and watch through his fingers. He bellowed when Drift _swallowed_, causing a glorious tightening in a rhythmic fashion along the length of his cord.

Ratchet was by no means a young mech, and he certainly wasn't new to sexual encounters, but he'd never met a mech who got off as much as Drift was on swallowing up another mech's cord. He moaned around him, the sound muffled but certainly felt. Ratchet's form jolted as the mech began bobbing his helm, drawing himself upwards so that the very tip was against his lips, then swiftly taking all of the medic's luminescent cord down his throat in one swift motion. He set a pace, and a rather shockingly fast and sharp one at that, never once removing his intense stare from Ratchet's flustered face.

"Oh Primus- Drift-" Ratchet tried to articulate, his vents whirring and his voice coming out in rattling growls. "That's it, _yes,_" He encouraged, his words earning him another heated and lusty moan from the mech. Ratchet cursed repeatedly, his vents heaving and the charge building up in his Spark. "_Drift... S-Slag, your __**mouth**__..._" He was unable to stop himself as he bucked up into the mech's throat, and surprisingly, it only made him moan _louder._

In fact, Drift seemed to want him to continue. He offered a light pinch to the mech's hip and gave a nod, the flexing and change of angle making Ratchet buck involuntarily. Soon they were moth moving in tandem, Drift rocking his hips in a wanton fashion, rubbing two fingers against his still-closed paneling, while Ratchet clawed at the floor and his own face to keep himself from shouting loud enough to cause alarm to the ship. Drift's haughty moans filled the room, muffled but still louder than Ratchet's thick, low moans and breathy growls.

When his overload crashed over him, Ratchet let out a loud snarl that was laced with Drift's name, his hips slamming up into that needy and gulping throat, flooding it beyond its limits. Drift was able to suckle almost every drop of fluids, though some still dribbled down the firm length as it pumped sharply in and out of the flooded oral cavity. As it faded, Drift drew back to lick needfully at the fluids that had escaped his mouth, his optics flickering as he realized that, despite overloading, Ratchet's cord was not depressurizing.

The medic seemed just as surprised, but that didn't stop him from pushing up against the eager lips of the mech as he cleaned up the silvery fluid that dripped down his cord. "Come _here_," He ordered, sitting up further to grab rather roughly at Drift's thigh, while shifting his own form backwards a few feet to lean on a nearby wall.

Drift was confused, but Ratchet seemed to not be in the mood to explain. He dragged Drift's hips toward himself, letting out a loud growl as he nipped at the plating that still covered the mech's interface array. Drift wriggled weakly and grasped at Ratchet's cord when he had been put into place, taking it into his mouth again with a desperate hunger, while his tried to issue the commands to release his own blisteringly hot cord and leaking valve. However, due to his inebriated state, he seemed unable to.

Ratchet growled deeply and fumbled before getting the manual switch, forcing it open. The swords mech let out a low moan against the cord in his mouth as his own was freed, firm and leaking heavily against his midsection. "Primus," Ratchet repeated, shifting his hands to pull open the dribbling port, pushing closer to drag his glossa up the trembling slit, eliciting another series of mewls and moans from Drift. He toyed with the mech's dripping valve for a few more moments, before turning his attention to the gorgeous cable that twitched in need. Cupping it in his palm, he ran his fingers over it slowly, collecting the fluids that slithered down the grooves and arches.

He decided to tease the mech only a few moments more, dragging his thumb along the under side from base to tip, before he forced the swords mech's weight to shift and he replied to Drift in kind; taking the mech's cord into his lips. He shuddered, swallowing him down in a mimic of the other white mech's actions, earning him a set of desperate moans over his own arousal. It set in motion a series of traded moans and growls between the two, each one having a thick cord stuffed deep in their throat and refusing to let the other overload them first.

Ratchet took advantage and pushed two digits into the dribbling port, shuddering with need as it clenched, nearly painfully so, around his fingers. Slithering his tongue along the top of the mech's cord, he shuttered his optics to listen and just _feel_, moaning and growling around the length in his mouth. It was all too soon that he could feel the other mech nearing overload. Ratchet smirked and suddenly drew back, shoving one arm past Drift's waist and flinging the smaller mech to the floor.

"Augh!" Drift groaned as he was ripped away, his throat actually sore from the roughness of it. He was flat on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling, his cord still painfully erect and port clenching needily to be filled. Ratchet grinned and loomed over him, cupping his hips to pull them into his lap as he settled on his knees. Drift's optics were blurry now, but he tilted his head up to stare.

"Ratchet-?" Drift asked, only to cut it short with a scream. The medic pushed three fingers into his port without warning, causing his back to arch and his fogged processor to become alight with all new forms of arousal. Ratchet had always seemed the dominating type, but he'd never imagined him being this vicious. And he loved every second of it, his port sucking in those glorious fingers hungrily.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were new to this," Ratchet mocked lowly, "But with how good you are with a cord in your mouth, you must've been some sort of _pleasure drone_ before the war." His tone was dark and husky, and it caused Drift's helm to become vibrantly pink. Shuddering hard, Drift sat up on his elbows and kneaded his lip as he watched, his optics pleadingly looking to Ratchet. "What?" The medic mocked, a wicked smirk gracing his features. He began slamming his fingers a little harder. Drift threw his helm back, crying out.

"_Primus, _Ratch', st—stop _teasing me_ and just-" He nearly howled in frustration when the medic removed his fingers. He was _so close_ to overload... He scraped at the metal flooring as Ratchet teased his port further by pushing the thick head of his cord against it, just enough to be felt before he relieved the pressure. "Oh, _frag,_ Ratchet, _please,_" He babbled now, watching as the medic forced his thighs apart, cupping Drift's right inner knee to bend his thigh up near his flank. Still, he continued to push against his desperate port just enough to make himself known.

"Please _what_, Drift?" Ratchet asked. He looked deep into his optics, into his Spark, which was rattling almost deafeningly. "_Say it._"

"For Primus' sake _fuck me,_" Drift suddenly snarled, using Earth vernacular, which seemed to please Ratchet even more. The swords mech felt heat pooling in his systems, but still, Ratchet did not give in. "_Fuck me __**hard,**_ _Ratchet. __**Please... **__**Please!**_" By now Drift was fairly certain he was going to loose his mind if he wasn't given the rough fragging he so desperately desired.

A devious grin split Ratchet's face, and he slowly began to push in. Drift _moaned_, a heated and low sound, his port clenching tightly and sucking in to thick cord that began sinking in with a hungry need. "_Yes, oh __**Primus**_ _you're big,_" he sobbed in pleasure, watching with wide optics as his port was stretched and filled. He had to fight to keep his focus on watching as the thickest part of Ratchet's cord began pushing into him, his vision going blurry from the pleasure.

Ratchet was by no means a gentle mech. He knew Drift's limits even more than he did. Pulling at his leg he had previously bent, he forced Drift's form to lay on its side, pulling his knee to rest over his shoulder as he gave one final shove to bury himself to hip inside Drift's trembling form. The white mech's audial fins were searingly bright, and his optics were just as, but he could do nothing. Ratchet had complete and utter control over him, his thick cord pulsing deep within him. Drift was certain that he could feel the head of that miraculous cord push against the back of his valve.

And without warning, the medic began to thrust. Drift _screamed_ in utter pleasure, clawing at the flooring as he fought to push back, but he had no leverage. He groaned loudly, leaving scores in the metal below as he scratched and hooked in, but there was no way to hold himself as Ratchet ravaged his valve completely and utterly. With each thrust, Ratchet made a thick, heated grunt, which mingled gorgeously with the desperately loud sobs, moans, and mewls from Drift. "_Yes, yes, yes, yes- __**Ratchet!**_" The slightly smaller mech babbled out repeatedly, his form jerking as he was slammed into harder and harder. His overload was just around the corner, rapidly crashing down on him, he felt his cord engorge slightly as he was about to burst-

Ratchet's grasp was tight and horribly painful as he coiled his fingers around the base of the mech's cord. It stopped his overload, but it hovered just out of reach, keeping him in a desperate haze of need and hysterical pleasure. Heat radiated off Drift in waves as he was thrust into repeatedly, each slam of the medic's hips causing a nearly painful jolt of pleasure to flood though him, only to crash to a stop from Ratchet's clenching hand on his cord. "Do you want to _overload,_ Drift?" Ratchet's voice was dark now, his optics dimming to match.

"Nnh- _hhhnnn_, y-yes! _Please!_" Drift sobbed in reply, his back arching and his optics bright. He stared at Ratchet, giving him a begging, needy look, but it only got him another dangerous grin. Ratchet began slamming even _harder_, repeatedly smashing into the back of Drift's valve and making the charge of the denied overload start to form static across his body. "_PrimusPrimusPrimusPrimus,_" Drift wailed, doing his best to buck back. He even had the gall to reach for Ratchet's wrist to try and get him to remove his hand from him, but a barked out warning made him recoil. "Oh, _Ratchet,_ please, please, I-I _need to overload-_"

The medic watched him intently, in the throes of near-overload, his form writhing and pleading to him and him alone. He finally removed his grasp from the mech's cord, only to clamp it down on his neck to force him to face upwards so that he could watch every etch of pleasure crease Drift's gorgeously expressive face. Drift _howled_ as he came, his overload so intense and sharp that it was almost painful. In fact it was so incredibly charged that he came not once but _three times_ in a row from the abuse, while Ratchet slammed his hips away into his tight port. He clenched down on him, nearly enough to stop him completely, but he was a powerful mech. His hips continued to piston forward without a single frag to give that Drift's valve was trying to milk him for every drop of fluid.

On the third overload, Ratchet joined him, letting out a heated snarl and bucking with even more force, stuffing the already stretched valve with thick, sticky ropes of transfluid, shuddering as it bubbled out from where they were connected. He pressed himself tight against Drift, keep himself fully sheathed inside him as their climaxes slowly faded. Drift slumped, nearly utterly limp, while Ratchet allowed the leg on his shoulder to fall to the ground. He leaned over Drift and kissed him on the mouth, slowly and sluggishly. He petted the mech's trembling hips as they kissed, even rocking forward a few more times to elicit mewls and gasps, after-orgasm shocks rocketing up from his raw valve.

As they broke apart, Drift could hardly see; his sobriety still had another hour or so before it was enough for him to be released, and he felt as though his entire frame was fried. He gasped as Ratchet pushed into him a few more times, realizing he _still_ had not gone soft, even after two overloads. "F-frag, R-Ratch'," He drawled, pulling him close for another series of lazy kisses, wrapping his sore legs around him to roll his hips back up against him, earning a heated growl. "Th-the rumors about medics are _true,_" He moaned against his lips, shuddering hard as he moved his hips slowly, in tandem with Ratchet, who seemed content to move at a soft pace.

Because of the fresh after-overload pleasures, Ratchet was easily able to work himself up to his own third overload without having to ravage Drift again. As he came, he clenched his teeth and hissed, his hands clenching into his lover's hips and holding him close. Drift's port was utterly flooded, and a rather shocking amount of fluid joined Ratchet in his departure. "You're a mess," He commented with a grunt as he pulled free, his cable finally returning to its housing.

"Who's fault is that?" Drift slurred, not realizing how sluggish his words were until Ratchet took a moment to understand him.

"Yours." Ratchet said, pulling himself fully out and shifting to stand, his pelvic plating shifting into place. "Entirely, actually. C'mon. We need to get you cleaned up before you're sent off for duty." He grunted, grabbing Drift's arm and hauling him up. He held him for a moment until he was steady, then let go, turning toward the shower. There was a loud crash of metal, and the medic peered over his shoulder to see Drift once again in a unceremonious heap on the floor.

Groaning in irritation, Ratchet picked him up again, this time looping one of Drift's arms over his shoulders, and mostly dragging the mech to the medical lab showers. He was completely out of it as Ratchet cleaned him, having to be held upright and pulled back from sliding to the floor at least six times before he was finished. Ratchet, irritated beyond afterglow and courtship now, ended up just leaving the inebriated mech in the showers, slumped on the ground against the wall and his helm lolled to one side.

Once his hour was up, and Drift still hadn't woken up to go about his life as usual, Ratchet went in and blasted on the shower head Drift was under; on freeing cold. Cursing loudly and bolting upright, then scrambling on near all-fours to escape the cold, the swords mech was finally able to stand on his own, the drug having mellowed out enough for him to behave normally, or at least normally enough for his crew mates not to notice.

There was a moment as Drift pressed himself against the shower exit, optics wide and still in a slight panic from the rude awakening. His massive cerulean orbs turned slowly, very slowly, toward Ratchet. "We-"

"Yes." Ratchet said flatly.

"And you-"

"Made you scream like a 'bitch'?" He used finger quotes as he spoke. "Yeah. Do well to remember that. Now get out of my med bay." Drift nodded numbly, walking with ram-rod stiff arms and legs, making it to the exit and doing a sharp U-turn to return and collect his weapons. He locked eye contact with Ratchet again, but he only got a warning glower in return. Spark hammering, he collected his swords and turned to leave, the med-bay doors slamming loudly behind him.


End file.
